Spot had his first taste of his soulmate when he was twelve years old, and it was bitter and disgusting at four in the morning, followed by a sweet rush of soda.
When he was thirteen, his soulmate spent three hours eating chocolate, so Spot spent three hours brushing his teeth, trying to make the flavor go away. Spot hated chocolate.
At fifteen, there was an incredibly brief taste of cigarette smoke that he never tasted again, and when he was sixteen, there was twenty minutes of chapstick that had never been used before, making Spot think maybe it was a kiss.
At seventeen, Spot spent almost four hours tasting pencil eraser and knew his soulmate was taking the SAT at the same time as him.
At eighteen, he tasted what he knew from experience was blood, and worried about his soulmate.
Throughout those years, he tasted tomato sauce, soap, toothpaste, coffee, tea, shaving cream, minty chapstick, sweat, gatorade, bread, chips, soda, things he couldn’t identify and things he could, reassurances that somewhere out there there was a person just right for him. And even when he felt most alone, there was almost always a little taste of something that told him somebody out there would be there for him eventually.
When Spot was nineteen, he arrived at college, and for the first time ever, he kissed a boy. For those minutes, he didn’t taste anything other than the mouth of the other boy, and he was too distracted by the feeling of the boy’s hands on his sides and in his hair to notice.
When he was nineteen, and he was kissing that boy, tastes blended and became one, and he was too distracted by everything going on around him to notice.
When he was twenty, he was lying on his bed, watching that boy start to get dressed, his head spinning, for the first time he reached out and pulled him back down, curling into that boy’s side and sleeping close. When he was twenty, he stopped thinking “that boy” and started thinking “Race.”
When Spot was twenty, he woke up to the fresh taste of toothpaste, the bed cooling beside him where Race had been, and that mint was a strangely painful reminder that whoever his soulmate was, it wasn’t the boy who was getting dressed next to him, because he wasn’t brushing his teeth.
But when Spot was almost twenty-one, almost twenty-two, he was chewing on a pencil in the common area, trying to figure out his homework, when his mouth was suddenly invaded once again with the strong taste of of chocolate.
“Mother fucker.” He whispered, trying to focus on the page.
“What?” Race looked up from where he was watching Netflix. Not willing to admit he was tasting from his soulmate, Spot just shook his head, indicating his paper.
He and Race had been pointedly avoiding the topic of soulmates since they started dating, and he wasn’t planning and changing that anytime soon.
When Spot looked up again, distracted again by the taste of chocolate, Race was watching his show intently, sucking on something.
“What are you eating?” Spot couldn’t help himself, even as he wanted to quietly believe for a second that maybe his soulmate was the man leaning on his legs ignoring all responsibilities in favor of some stupid show.
“Kisses.” Race responded distractedly, not looking up.
“Haha, very funny, I meant what’s in your mouth right now.”
“Kisses. Hershey’s Kisses, Spot, the candy.” Race paused his show and look up at Spot. “Have you never had a Kiss? I wasn’t making a joke, it really is a candy.” Race reached into his pocket and held up a tiny silver wrapped thing. “Try it, it’s chocolate. It’s good.” Spot froze momentarily. “What?”
“I don’t like chocolate, is all.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Race unwrapped the chocolate himself and popped it in his mouth, leaving Spot trying to convince himself that it was just a coincidence, that this was the only time Race had ever been eating the same thing Spot was tasting, and that nothing was different.
Race wasn’t his soulmate, because Race couldn’t be the one brushing his teeth when he was the one getting dressed, because Race wasn’t the one eating chocolate that Spot could taste, because Race wasn’t. He wasn’t, and letting himself believe otherwise would only mean he’d let himself get more attached.
But somehow the waves of chocolate got more and more distracting the more he noticed Race eating it.
“Spot, seriously, are you okay? You look sick.”
“I’m fine, Race, really.”
“Headache? Upset stomach? Bad taste in your mouth?”
“I really fucking hate chocolate!” Spot finally burst out. “It’s disgusting, it tastes like death, I’ve never liked it and I never will! And apparently, it’s the only thing my stupid fucking soulmate will ever eat!” Race’s mouth was open, and he was staring at Spot.
“Your…soulmate…is eating chocolate right now?”
“Yes! And they have been for the past hour, and the taste won’t go away, and it’s disgusting!”
“Oh.” Race paused. “I’m eating chocolate right now.”
“Do you also manage to be brushing your teeth while getting dressed?” Spot glowered. “I hate this Race, I really do, I don’t want this to be coming from somebody other than you, but the fact of the matter, it is.”
“I use breath strips.” Race said quietly.
“When I sleep over. I eat a breath strip thing because I hate morning breath. It…it tastes like toothpaste.” Race said quietly. “I don’t…I don’t know if that’s what you’re tasting, but I…I do.” Race was hesitant. “I…do you not want me to be your soulmate? Maybe I’m not, but I…I thought.”
“I thought we lined up. I guess…maybe I was imagining it, but…I just thought you didn’t want to say anything.” Race was blushing, looking down. “You…when you chew your pencils, I taste something I thought was eraser. And when that pen exploded in your mouth, I thought for sure you…I dunno, I just…you don’t think we are?”
Spot was still processing what Race had said about breath strips.
“You…you eat breath strips? Every morning?”
“I mean, when I sleep over, yeah. I…I really hate morning breath and I guess…I wouldn’t want to kiss me with morning breath, why would you?” Race swiped a hand across his face, but Spot couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or trying to hide something more, like tears, maybe. “Look, okay, the first time we kissed…I thought….I thought I didn’t taste anything. Maybe I was wrong, but I…I dunno.”
“Do you have a breath strip right now?”
“Why are you so hung up on the breath strips?” Race sounded more frustrated than anything else, now.
“Sure, Spot have a fucking breath strip.” Race flicked a tiny square thing at him, and Spot took out a tiny little piece of whatever made up a breath strip. When he held it up, Race’s face shifted when he figured out what Spot was doing.
“If you taste it, and I taste what I thought was toothpaste…” Spot trailed off, not quite wanting to define what that would mean. Race just nodded, watching as Spot slowly put the breath strip in his mouth.
They made steady eye contact as Spot’s eyes started to water, but he recognized the flavor.
Race’s eyes widened, he licked his lips and just stared up at Spot, somehow hopeful and scared at the same time. He nodded slightly, not wanting to break the tentative, almost fearful silence between them.
“God, these things are strong.” Spot finally said.
“You get used to them if you use them enough.” Race pushed his closed laptop aside and spun completely around, so that instead of leaning back against Spot’s legs looking up he was facing Spot head on. “I’m used to them. This…this isn’t bothering me.” He finished hesitantly.
“Yeah.” For a second Spot just kind of looked at him, processing that he was finally allowed to admit how much he cared for Race, that Race was his soulmate, that he didn’t have to try and ignore his feelings and how strong they were any more. And then he grinned cheekily, unable to put any of those feelings into words and instead choosing to make a bad joke.
“We need to have a serious discussion about your eating habits. Namely, how much fucking chocolate you eat.” Race laughed.
“You find out your boyfriend is your soulmate and your response is to criticize his eating habits.”
“I told you, I really fucking hate chocolate. It’s nasty, and you eat it all the time, and I have to taste it. Stop.”
“If you mostly stop eating chocolate, I’ll mostly give up something you hate.”
“Fat chance. Something reasonable.”
“Those weird…meat things.”
“Yeah. I’ll not eat as much chocolate if you don’t eat as many of those nasty things.”
“Fine.” Spot allowed his real smile to break through, finally, pulling Race up towards him, kissing him firmly.
This time, he didn’t get distracted by the feeling of Race’s hands tangling in his hair until after he noticed the tastes in his mouth blending together, until he didn’t feel like he was tasting anything at all. This time, Spot let himself get lost in both the kiss and the knowledge that they felt so right for each other because they were.
Because Race really was his soulmate. Because Race really was meant to be his.
Because Spot didn’t have to pretend he didn’t care any more.
